A monstrous roar split the air as the waves rose like towers of liquid glass, crashing into the ship's deck.
The Voyager lurched violently to one side, throwing passengers and crew alike to the floor. Screams filled the air, a chorus of fear and disbelief. The sails groaned, the masts trembled, and the deck creaked like it might split apart at any second.
Luther barely kept his footing, his boots sliding across the soaked planks. The world spun before Aithur's arm snagged his collar and yanked him upright.
"Hold still," Aithur barked through gritted teeth. "You alright?"
Luther blinked, brushed wet hair from his face, and deadpanned, "Define alright. Because I'm either going to die from drowning or motion sickness."
Before Aithur could reply, another roar erupted—low, guttural, and ancient. It rose from beneath the waves like the voice of something that had been sleeping for centuries.
Luther's eye twitched. "...You've got to be kidding me."
